Sacrifice
by Tarnation Awaits
Summary: After Ron and Hermione are captured by Death Eaters, Snape must weigh the consequences of war. Warning: Character death.


This is my response to a lyric challenge, though it is obviously not a literal interpretation of the provided lines. Constructive criticism is much appreciated.  
  
So sing all your questions to sleep / The answers are out there in the drowning deep - Vienna Teng, "Harbor"  
  
Snape moved quickly through the halls, his dark eyes darting back and forth between shadows. When he reached the stone chamber, a stern and impatient glare at the young Death Eater guarding the door was all he needed to gain entry. Snape entered the room and closed the door behind him without a sound. His eyes narrowed as he surveyed the scene before him.  
  
The room was a veritable chamber of horrors. A palpable sense of terror and dread hung in the air, and the mingled scents of blood and leather caused Snape to swallow in disgust. His eyes turned to the center of the room where a worn rack sat like a grotesque dinner table, set with all the implements of torture that one could imagine. A quick glance revealed that it was Ron who was laid out in the middle like the prize ham. Leather straps and heavy metal manacles adorned his contorted form. His clothes were torn or missing, and his body was marked where each of the instruments had been used in turn to leave elaborate patterns across his pale flesh. He did not move. Matted red hair clung to his slack face, and his lifeless eyes were turned toward where Hermione was slumped nearby.  
  
Snape focused his attention on the girl. She was bound to an elaborately carved straight backed chair by silvery tendrils that wound up her body and wove through the woodcut designs. Thick, braided ropes held her wrists flat against the chair's clawed arms. Her chin sagged against her chest, and Snape could hear from across the room that her breathing was ragged. Soft, mewling sobs escaped her lips as she struggled weakly against the bonds. She must have been there for hours, he realized, looking at her exhausted form. Her clothes were intact and she looked relatively uninjured save the chafing of her wrists from fighting against the rope, but Snape knew this meant little. Some pain did not leave visible scars. She did not appear to notice his presence and he suspected she was delirious, though from physical trauma, grief, or the after-effects of some ill-devised mental torture, he could not be sure. Snape warded the door behind him with a quick movement and swiftly crossed the room to where she sat.  
  
"Miss Granger," he addressed her softly, crouching in front of her and placing a hand on her shoulder.  
  
Hermione flinched at his touch, moaning slightly and turning her head further away from him. He gripped her chin gently and tilted her face upward. Her eyes were wild and unfocused, showing no sign of recognition. Snape's brow furrowed. Perhaps they had done worse to her than he had suspected. "Miss Granger," he repeated more firmly. "Look at me."  
  
Responding to the quiet order in his voice, her eyes locked onto his, widening as they focused. Her features cleared and her innocent face broke into an expression of aching relief. "Professor Snape?" her voice cracked with tremulous hope. "I knew you would come."  
  
Snape arched a dark eyebrow. "Indeed," he replied, before lowering his gaze to investigate the heavy ropes. Recognizing that they had been spelled to prevent magical release, he began to work at the complicated knots with deft fingers. "What happened?"  
  
"We...we were in Hogsmeade and then there were figures around us in dark cloaks and we tried to fight them off but there were too many...Then they brought us here and..." She trailed off as fresh tears filled her eyes and spilled down her raw cheeks. "They've killed Ron," she choked out.  
  
Sparing a glance toward the form stretched out on the rack, Snape set his jaw in a tight line and continued to work on the ropes. Hermione closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the chair, trying to steady her breathing. She gasped as realization dawned. "We have to get to Harry," she said urgently.  
  
Snape looked up sharply and his hands stilled. "Why?"  
  
"He won't be ready... I heard the Death Eaters talking when they thought I was unconscious. They said something about some sort of attack..." Her eyes searched his face desperately.  
  
Snape frowned, "But if Potter is at Hogwarts, he's still too carefully guarded. They'd never make it onto the grounds."  
  
Hermione shook her head rapidly, "They said something about the Polyjuice being ready – I think that's why they needed Ron and me. And they wanted to know all sorts of information like the password to Gryffindor tower... I haven't told them anything but I don't know how much information they got from Ron before...before..." She broke off again and squeezed her eyes shut to prevent another onslaught of tears.  
  
Snape tried to keep himself from rolling his eyes. Polyjuice? He didn't care to know whose malformed idea that had been. The potion only changed one's appearance and would certainly not be enough to bypass all the new wards on Hogwarts that had been put in place since the incident with Crouch. No, he thought bitterly, as long as Potter stayed at Hogwarts and didn't pull anymore foolish stunts, both Potter and the Dark Lord were relatively safe, though the casualties on both sides would undoubtedly continue until after the final battle was fought. Narrowing his eyes, he stood abruptly.  
  
"Professor?" Hermione was looking up at him again, uncertainty written across her face. She tugged at the ropes again. "We have to-"  
  
"What are you willing to do to see the Dark Lord fall?" He cut her off in a low voice.  
  
For the first time since Snape had arrived, Hermione's eyes flicked to where Ron lay. Her breath hitched as she stared into his sightless eyes. She turned back to Snape. "Anything," she whispered fiercely, hatred, anger, and pain vying for control of her determined features.  
  
"Mmm." Snape crossed his arms and nodded slightly. He raised a finger to his thin lips and rubbed them absently. "Potter won't be ready to kill until he has nothing left to live for," he mused. "There is nobody more dangerous – or more reckless, than someone with nothing left to lose."  
  
"What do you mean?" Hermione asked slowly, brow furrowing in confusion. She squirmed uncomfortably in the chair, trying unsuccessfully to get out of the bindings that still held her.  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow, but made no move to resume his work on the ropes. "You're a smart girl," he said with a hint of condescension, "I thought the answer to that would have been obvious to someone as clever as you."  
  
He watched as her eyes first narrowed in suspicion and then widened in disbelief. "Release the bonds," she said quietly.  
  
"I can't do that."  
  
Hermione searched his impassive face, looking desperately into his eyes for any reassurance or hint that this was a trick for observing Death Eaters. She found no warmth there, and blanched as any question as to his intention was stripped away. She began to struggle frantically, the heavy ropes cutting into the tender flesh of her wrists and the silver tendrils constricting more with every movement.  
  
He reached a hand out and touched her cheek. She stiffened under the brush of his fingertips, but didn't dare pull away. "Come now," he said softly, "There's no need to make this harder than it has to be."  
  
She stopped struggling then, and sat still and silent as he drew his wand from his robes. Only her shining eyes showed the wounded look of betrayal, hopelessness of despair, and barely contained panic that ran through her mind.  
  
"Please don't," she whispered. "Please..."  
  
"Shhh," he soothed, holding his wand up to his lips and reaching his other hand out to brush her eyes closed. He took one last look at her trembling form before closing his own eyes and muttering her final rites. 


End file.
